The Seeker of Kvatch
by ElderTom
Summary: Upon using the Boxes of Orden, Richard Cypher is catapulted into a different world, one on the verge of disaster, though he does not yet know it. The Oblivion Crisis, told from Richard's perspective, and how he aids the Hero of Kvatch in fighting the Mythic Dawn and the Daedra to save Tamriel. Like any sensible person, I play Oblivion with mods; I'll mention them as needed.
1. From D'Hara to Nirn

Chapter 1

From D'Hara to the Daedra

This wasn't home. This was far from home. The stars in the sky were all wrong. Not a single constellation could he find. The smells were all wrong. His nose felt under siege from the abundance of unfamiliar flora and fauna. Even his breath felt heavier here, dense; as if he were breathing in more than simply air; it felt almost arcane. The last time he remembered this sensation was upon his passing from Westland into the Midlands...there was magic here...magic so thick he was inhaling it.

At least, though, one thing remained the same.

"You there! Where did you come from?! Who are you?!"

Two men in what appeared to be light chain mail approached him. Their armor bore the insignia of a gray wolf on a violet backdrop. It wasn't a emblem with which he was familiar. He was far from home indeed. At least they spoke his language.

"My name is Richard," he responded, leaving his last name out, not knowing if these were agents of Darken Rahl. It was best if they didn't have either of his last names, come to think of it. Not yet at any rate.

"State your business, 'Mr. Richard,'" the shorter one mocked him. "Why come you to Kvatch at this late hour? Only vampires and thieves wander in the night. So which are you?"

"Vampires? Here?" he asked incredulously. "I assure you, I am neither, good sir."

"Don't 'good sir' me, boy. I'm no knight. But I wield the authority of Count Goldwine, and I believe he'd be most interested in knowing not only who you are," his voice grew as the distance between them closed, "but what you're about and how a peasant like you has such a fine blade as _that_ ," he added, torch light flickering off the silver gleam of the Sword of Truth.

"The sword is mine by right," he found himself protesting. "I am not wealthy, but neither am I some peasant. I am Richard Cypher, from Westland. My brother, Michael, is First Council of Westland, a man of great influence."

"That's all well and good," the taller, golden looking guard responded, "but on no map of Nirn have I ever seen a 'Westland.'"

"Yeah, where in Oblivion is this _Westland_?" the shorter guard huffed at him.

He was starting to feel panicky, but did his best to remain calm in spite of his nerves.

"Please, you don't understand. I don't even know where I am. I would never claim to be the most knowledgeable person, but I've never heard of Kvatch, or Count Goldwine. Are we still in the Midlands? Have I crossed over into D'Hara?"

"There you go blabbing on about made up worlds again," the shorter one challenged, placing a hand on the hilt of his mace.

"Please, we don't need to get violent," Richard responded, taking a back step to steady his stance, placing a hand to the hilt of his own weapon.

"I agree," the taller, seemingly more diplomatic of the two replied.

"You can't trust a stranger like this one, Merandil," replied his cohort.

"Who says I can or cannot? It isn't about trust, Jesan. It's about finding out what is true and what is not."

"You think because of your Altmer blood, you can simply speak over me? As if my suspicions and cautions count for nothing?"

"Hardly, my friend, you know I don't think that way," the one known as Merandil said. "However, I do outrank you, if only slightly. Ergo, in the interest of finding the truth and to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and the slaughter of an innocent man, I say we escort Mr. Richard here inside the city and bring him before the court. There, I believe, we will discover his purpose and his intentions," he finished, then, turning back to him, "will you come with us willingly, Richard of Westland?"

"If it means we don't have to fight and I can find some answers, I'll gladly join you, Merandil?"

"Yes, I am Merandil. Please, come with us. I will not ask you to surrender your sword, as it is the right of all people in Cyrodiil to protect themselves. But I will ask you to keep your hand away from it. We wouldn't want anyone," he glanced at Jesan, "to have any excuse to accuse or suspect you of foul play."

"Understood...and thank you..."

Their company passed through the city gates and toward the castle, Merandil in front, Jesan, hand still resting on the hilt of his mace, behind. He tried to see some of the buildings around him, but they were mostly silhouettes against the darkness of the night.

"Damn it all, I told those rookies to change the lamp oil. As if it isn't dark enough. That'll be a cut to their pay, if I have anything to say about it."

"That would be a just punishment," Merandil agreed.

"I'd rather give them twenty lashes for endangering the citizens of Kvatch by neglecting their duties, but I suppose having less coin for spirits at the tavern will wizen them up."

"It would at least sober them up, I would think," Richard offered, trying to appear lighthearted. Their chuckles were helpful.

"That's true, lad, very true," Jesan replied with what sounded like joviality. But he kept his hand on his hilt.

They lapsed back into silence upon approaching the castle. At least here, the oil lamps were well filled and lit, and he saw again the wolf insignia on the banners hanging from the parapets. Violet and silver. At least they weren't any shade of D'Haran rouge. They weren't enemies, at least, not on his part.

"Open the gates," Merandil half-requested, half-demanded.

"Merandil?" the guard behind gates sounded confused. "What are you and Jesan doing away from your post? And who is this fellow?"

"We found him lurking about outside the city walls," Jesan cut in. "We're taking him inside to find out who he is; been spouting nonsense about Westland and D'Hara, and other made up things and such."

"What Jesan means, Tierra, is that we found this fellow, Richard Cypher, lost and confused. He carries what appears to be quite a fantastic blade. We're hoping to better understand his story, and we think the Count would like to be in attendance."

Jesan grumbled under his breath.

"One moment," Tierra replied. "You know the Count won't be up for another hour or so."

So it was nearly dawn, good to know.

"It matters little. I ask that you place Richard in the company of Ilend Vonius, as Jesan and I will return to our post."

Company? Or custody?

"Easily arranged," came her reply.

"Good, get him off our hands," Jesan nearly spat.

"Richard Cypher, I hope that you enjoy your stay in Castle Kvatch. Do tell Ilend everything that you told Jesan and I. He's an understanding man, and will deal with you graciously until Count Goldwine awakens."

Just like that?

"I'm grateful for your own understanding nature, Merandil, for your civility."

"Think nothing of it; we were all strangers in a strange land at some point in our lives. It does not bode well to refuse civility and hospitality to a stranger, especially when it's in your power to give one or both."

"Cram it up your ass," Jesan audibly muttered.

"Well, we can't all be civil all the time can we?" Merandil winked at him.

"Only as necessary, I suppose," Richard agreed.

"I'll see you again, I'm sure. Take care."

"And you, likewise.


	2. Making Sense of it All

Chapter 2

Making Sense of it All

Richard was escorted by another pair of guards inside the great doors of the castle, wherein his eyes were once again forced to adjust as the light inside was as bright as the sun compared to the darkness of the world outside. Rich tapestries and luxurious wood furniture filled the space. a giant table occupied the middle of the room; either a great feast had taken place or was about to, it seemed. Only a few other guards were around, as the hour was still early morn, but he expected there would be many servants scurrying around once the dawn broke.

Ilend Vonius, or at least a man Richard suspected of being Ilend Vonius, was seated at a smaller desk, surrounded by bookshelves, off in a corner, pouring over some documents.

"Sir! We've been instructed to leave this gentleman in your keeping," one of his escorts announced.

"Who's this then?" Ilend asked, glancing up from his papers. "You bring an unknown man to me, hands unbound, blade still in his belt, and tell me he is my responsibility? With the Count not but a few locked doors away?" he pressed further, rising from his chair.

His escorts seemed unnerved. Was this the same Ilend that Merandil had said would deal with him graciously? He was becoming unnerved himself.

"Sir...uh..that is...Merandil and Jesan found him outside the gates and brought him in..."

"Yeah, that's right! It were those two!"

"So, you're simply following the command of a guard of slightly higher rank, giving no thought to the implications of allowing this fellow into the castle?" he pressed further.

"I...sir..."

"It were Merandil and Jesan! The blame should be theirs!"

"Quiet!" Ilend snapped. "Leave this man here with me, but see yourselves out. I'll not have such incompetence on my watch. A double shift, you shall pull, as punishment. I'll speak with those two when I see fit to do so."

"Sir.." both guards said at once, though without much enthusiasm as they turned to leave.

"Ilend...ah...Sir Vonius...I assure you I am no threat. I'm just trying to figure out where I am and how I got here," he began, trying not to allow the panic well within him again.

"There's no need for that...a knight I am not," Ilend replied, the annoyance in his voice replaced by Merandil's promised comprehension. "I apologize for what you had to see. They're new to the Watch, and I need to remind them to think for themselves, even under orders. Now then, as I see you know my name, would you do me the courtesy of gracing me with yours?"

Richard felt at ease again, though he kept alert for any sudden mood changes. There weren't too many guards around; if needed, he could escape the room, though after that, he wasn't clear on what the next step would be.

"My name is Richard Cypher, of Westland," he said. "I was...on a quest for a powerful magical artifact. Upon touching it, I..." he paused, unsure of exactly what happened. "I saw a brilliant flash of green, and found myself outside the gates of your city...a city I've never heard of in a land I've never seen on any map."

"Richard Cypher of Westland...well, similarly, I've never heard of a land so named, nor is it on any map of Nirn. I wonder if this Westland of which you speak is some magical realm...perhaps in Aetherius itself..."

"No, quite the opposite. There is...or at least...was no magic in Westland."

"And yet you sought out a magical artifact in a land where there is no magic. Your story, though intriguing, makes little sense."

Richard scratched his head, and despite the circumstances, grinned.

"It's something of a long story...to say nothing of the story being equally complicated."

"Well, we've some time yet before the court awakens. Start from the beginning, or at least, the part you think is a relevant beginning, and we'll go from there. And I hope you don't mind my quill and ink. It makes recalling details simpler, and if your story changes when recalled to the Count, I'll have you on record."

Richard's grin faded.

"I'm no liar; I'm after the truth as much as you are."

"Forgive me; my father was a magistrate of the law; a seeker of truth in civil and criminal matters; old habits and all that. If Merandil saw fit to trust you, then I am compelled to do likewise. He's the most honest Altmer I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."

Richard grinned again.

"A Seeker of Truth...funny you should phrase it in such a way."

"How so?" Ilend inquired, raising an eyebrow.

And so Richard told his tale; of how Kahlan Amnell traveled through the barrier separating Midland and Westland, bringing him the Book of Counted Shadows. He told of his meeting with a man he thought to be a hermit who turned out to be Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander, who gifted him the Sword of Truth—the marvelous blade at his side—and named him Seeker of Truth.

"I understand your amusement at my phrasing," Ilend broke in, thought not rudely.

"It is a particular grouping of words that I'm not sure many people ever think too closely on when put together; your father must have been a good man, to seek such a noble thing as truth."

"I'd like to think so," Ilend nodded warmly. "Please, continue."

Richard picked up the story, telling of their journey into Midland, his capture, torture, death and resurrection at the hands of the Mord-Sith. How they stumbled upon the D'Haran plot to recover and reassemble the Boxes of Orden. How they had raced against the clock and the Darken Rahl to assemble obtain the Power of Orden to overthrow the tyranny of D'Hara.

"I take it this Darken Rahl is not the most pleasant of characters," Ilend said thoughtfully.

"No, not in the least. A tyrant...a monster really. He killed all the first born sons of Brennidon, my birth place in Midland, to try to kill me. But I had already been whisked away by Zed to Westland. And," he shook his head, recalling the Whisperers, "He's done worse, if that can be imagined."

"That is certainly terrible, though Tamriel is not without it's share of tyrants and bloodthirsty rulers," Ilend replied.

"I don't suppose there's ever been a world, yours, mine, or otherwise, where there isn't some evil at work," Richard agreed.

Ilend studied him thoughtfully, visibly pondering the story he had just heard from the stranger of Westland.

"Tell me, Richard...these Boxes of Orden...what are they?"

"In truth, I don't really understand them myself; Zed was more of the Loremaster. As near as I can tell, they have something to do with the bending of wills; whoever controls the boxes can control the will of any and all. A Confessor's power, but on a much grander scale. Extraordinarily powerful. Which is why we needed to prevent Darken Rahl from getting that power," he took a breath, imagining the potential windfall of such a scenario. "What resistance there was against him and the armies of D'Hara would be wiped away almost instantaneously. His control would have been absolute."

"Did you manage to recover these boxes, Seeker?" Ilend leaned in, using his title as oppose to his name.

"We did," he replied, eyeing his interrogator. "We were actually attempting to use them when Rahl showed up and interfered. There was a brilliant flash of green...and I ended up here...in Tam...Tamrel?"

"Tamriel, Seeker. You are in Tamriel. In the Imperial Province of Cyrodiil, the city of Kvatch, to be more specific. Now," he looked over to a nearby porter, "my guess is that after all you've been through, you're hungry, thirsty, tired, or some combination of the three. Marcus, come here," he commanded the porter. "Bring this man some food and wine, make sure he's comfortable. I go to report to Captain Matius, and then we," he turned his attention back around, "shall have a conversation with the Count. Rest easy, Seeker. You are our guest here, and will be treated as such."

"Thank you, Ilend, I really mean that," he said warmly. "But, I need to find out how to get home."

"All in good time, Seeker. I doubt the Count has the answers, but certain formalities must be entertained. After this, we'll help you as we're able. A visit to the Mage's Guild will likely be our next stop. But all in good time."

Richard nodded, having nothing to really protest, other than the very unnerving feelings he had being in an unknown land, possibly an unknown world, and no idea how he got here or how he could leave.

He glanced over to a window; it appeared dawn was upon them. Strange, the hue of the colors, he thought. A red sky in the early morning wasn't all that uncommon, but this horizon looked like a deeper shade of crimson rather than a dawn red...and unless he was mistaken, those appeared to be fractures in the sky. And he could have sworn he heard the crack of thunder.

What a strange world this Nirn was...


	3. Another Barrier Broken

Chapter 3

Another Barrier Broken

He had only just finished eating a pheasant breast and some bread, and was sipping on his wine when he heard them. Nirn or his own world, he knew what that sound was and what it meant. Those were warning bells; something was wrong. Another problem on the pile of problems he was already having.

He stood up with a start, placed his hand on his hilt and ran over to a window overlooking the city, and gasped at the horror of the sight below.

Men clad in black cloaks were setting fire to the lower levels of the city with what looked to be something similar to Zed's Wizard's Fire. Some kind of sorcerers? And alongside them were black and crimson armored men, killing any and all who escaped the flames. Black and Crimson...had the D'Harans found him? Had they followed him here somehow?

"We need to go help them!" he shouted to the guards in the hall.

"And we will," a new voice answered him. "Ilend told me who you were, so consider yourself pressed into service for the defense of Kvatch. Time to put that fancy blade to use!"

"Of course; just tell me where you need me!"

"Stick with me for now; Ilend, Menien, also on me. The rest of you form up and prepare to defend the castle. Don't let those bastards near the Count!"

"SIR!" their reply came.

Richard turned to take another look out the window, and to his horror, he realized that these were in fact, not the forces of Darken Rahl. D'Hara didn't employ giant lizards...or spiders...or giant blue demons...these were something else entirely. And beyond the gates of the city, he saw it; a giant orange flaming doorway...

He hoped he wouldn't have to enter that. But he steeled himself for the possibility that he may have to.

"Richard! Let's go!" Ilend shook him from his window.

"Right; okay. I'm ready!"

"Without any armor on, I hope you're quick and deadly with that blade."

"As I need to be," he replied. "Never liked the feel of armor; always made me feel sluggish. I need to be light on my feet."

"I respect that. Just stay out of reach of their blades. These dremora are taller and larger than we mortals, and their pets are even more deadly."

He nodded to his new brothers in arms and joined them as they scrambled out of the gate. The sound of armored boots on the cobblestone walkways echoed off the walls, only to be drowned out by the sounds of the carnage beyond the castle gates. The screaming, the demonic laughter. The heat from what he could only guess was Wizard's fire—or something akin to it—and the explosions of buildings bursting into flame...the smell of singed flesh and human excrement flooded his nostrils and he felt his senses being overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all.

He gripped his sword more tightly and centered his thoughts, feeling the power of the blade begin to calm him and surge through him, granting him focus and the courage to face this new terror.

"Shields! Shields!" the guard captain—Matius, Ilend had called him—shouted. "Shield wall! Form up and don't get separated!"

The Kvatch guardsmen formed up tightly as commanded, while Richard stayed behind their steel curtain. And then he saw their enemy up close. And the captain was correct; these men, whoever they were, were enormous.

"Stand fast!" Matius shouted, and they began their counter attack, moving into the city square, doing their best to push against a foe that was clearly, at least physically, superior.

"I. Smell. Weakness!" he heard one of the dremora shout above the carnage, as he and some of his black-and-crimson-clad warriors turned to face their shield wall. And then they charged.

"Hold! Hold you soldiers of Kvatch!" Matius bellowed above the fray. And then the crash of steel.

Their shield wall held, but it was clear from the rocking it took that these men, these dremora, were in a different weight class. Richard noticed one of their number working his way around the end of their wall, and so took it upon himself to meet him head on. Time to earn his keep and earn the captain's trust...assuming they'd both make it out of this alive.

"Bow to me, mortal!" it yelled at him in challenge. "No one escapes!"

"Come at me then, demon!" he answered the challenge as their swords clashed.

For its size, this warrior moved with the speed and agility of one much lighter, and less armored. It caught him off guard, but he was still the quicker and was able to maneuver around and find openings. And so he struck.

His blade, always so reliable, glanced off the dermora's thick armor.

"You are weak, mortal!" it taunted him.

So it would take a thrust and not a swipe to end the life of this being, he realized.

The demon took wide swipes at him with its halberd, using the weapon's length and his own physical superiority to great effect, pushing Richard backward, so Richard decided to play the part of weakling and retreated on purpose. He even tried to make his face appear afraid.

No doubt sensing his own prowess, the dremora pushed his advantage, and after a few more maneuvers, he saw his opening. The dremora, supremely confident, had neglected his balance in its zeal to end Richard's life, and his footing was off. It lunged at Richard, swinging wide and wild and Richard ducked up underneath and thrust the Sword of Truth up under the ribcage of the armor, near to the hilt.

"No! Not by a mortal!" the creature managed through a gurgle of blood.

Richard twisted the blade, and yanked it back out before the flesh could seize it, and the dremora fell to one knee, spitting and coughing up blood, eventually rolling over and collapsing.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Richard turned back to join the shield wall with Ilend and the rest.

Except, the shield wall had broken, and in its place, among the mangled and dismembered bodies of dead and dying soldiers, was the closest thing to a dragon Richard had ever seen.


	4. The Inescapable Doom

Chapter 4

The Inescapable Doom

 **A/N** : The previous chapter had a dremora using a halberd, not available in the base game, but made available through the wonders of modding, specifically Immersive Weapons by Ironman5000.

And since we're rapidly approaching the part in the story where our Hero of Kvatch makes his presence known, he will be (whether it's lore friendly or not, I don't care) a Half-Giant, as introduced by this mod by jr2nd. He'll be eight feet tall, not out of the realm of possibility, but obviously larger than the 10 playable races in the vanilla game.

"Daedroth!" he heard a soldier scream.

"Archers!" he heard another yell above the turmoil. "Don't get too close! It'll tear you apart!"

Having just survived his encounter with the dremora soldier, he had no real desire to take this giant lizard one on one, and certainly not with archers to take it down from afar, but he was compelled to engage it nonetheless. He felt the power of his blade surging into his body, and he knew it was his duty to fight, no matter the odds.

"Loose!" he heard a voice command, and a dozen arrows found their way into the creature's hide. Whether it felt the pain of the darts or not, it certainly did not show any reaction. It simply spat fire from it's mouth in the direction of the archer platoon. A few dove out of the way, but at least half were incinerated.

Richard settled his nerves and took off at a light trot in the direction of the monster. Ignoring the carnage and chaos around him, he scraped a rock off the ground and chucked it at the creature's head to grab its attention. After connecting, the daedroth turned to see the rock's source, and let out a gutteral growl that made Richard's stomach turn, but he pushed it down and went to work.

His earlier skirmish with the dremora taught him that size didn't necessarily mean loss of speed, but he really hoped that this creature was as slow as it looked. He certainly didn't expect it to leap four feet off the ground to launch itself his direction, claws on its hands and feet ready to tear the flesh right off of him.

He ducked and rolled underneath the creature, but took a solid thunk to his left shoulder. Nothing broken, but that was going to bruise, proveded he lived through this.

Regaining his feet, he took a quick swipe at the monster's back side, the Sword of Truth cutting through the thick hide, but he felt a pang shoot through his sword arm.

He quickly backed off into a defensive stance and looked around, curious as to what hit him, only to find that nothing and no one else was around to engage him. An arrow? But there was no blood...

"It reflects damage, Richard!" he heard Ilend shout to him.

"What?" he shouted back, dodging a swipe from the daedroth's massive calws.

"If you hit it, it hurts you too!"

"What kind of sorcery is this?" he yelled in a mix of frustration and anger. Now he was mad, and he could feel the Sword of Truth begin to burn in his hand, feeding off of his fury.

So if he was going to feel the creature's pain, or at least part of it, then he needed to go for the kill shot quickly. The longer this dragged on, the greater his own pain would be. So be it.

He maneuvered himself around the creature's scaly backside, watching out for its wicked tail. It whipped at him as the daedroth turned to face him again, and he could feel the heat welling up near the creature's mouth; it was about to spew fire at him...that would be his opening!

As it reared back its head, he saw what he hoped was the weakpoint. He didn't know of any creature that could live long without air, and so he lunged forward, swiping at its exposed throat, wincing with the pain he felt from his own strike, but delighting in the sound that the daedroth made as it failed to release its flame. Similar to the guttural growl from moments ago, but this one more of a gurgle of blood and the desperate gasp for air. He had cut deeply enough for a fatal blow.

Then the tail caught him hard in the chest, and he found himself on the ground, wind knocked out of him. He coughed, and thought he felt a broken rib. Great, he thought. Just what he needed. Then he chuckled in spite of it. Here he was, wind knocked out of him just a moment after he had taken the breath of life away from another. It was strangely poetic.

"Richard!" he heard Ilend call to him. "You two, get him to the Chapel of Akatosh!"

"SIR!" he heard their reply.

"I can still fight...I just need a moment..." he replied, struggling to sit up.

"I'm counting on it," Captain Matius said to him. "We're regrouping at the chapel; apparently the damned daedra won't set foot inside, but that means we'll have to fight our way in. We're trying to evacuate the civilians, those who are left..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Then I'll keep helping."

"I believe it, and I know you want to. Help us get through to the chapel, and we'll discuss our next move."

"Time to move!" Ilend interjected, nodding to another platoon of dremora that was rapidly advancing on their position.

"I think I have a broken rib; is there anything anyone can do?"

"Drink this," Matius threw him a bottle. "It won't heal your ribs, but it will numb the pain and allow you to keep fighting!"

"Right!" he said as he uncorked the bottle and downed the contents. He felt the pain in his side subside almost instantaneously.

"Here we go!" Ilend exclaimed, and the carnage was on again.

Thought they had numbers, despite the losses from earlier, these dremora were far superior to the guards in terms of sheer prowess and skill. Ilend and Matius were holding their own, as was he, but the rest were rapidly being dismantled. Some showed bravery in the face of the onslaught, but they were simply outclassed. It wasn't pretty to watch. Or to hear.

"We're getting massacred out here! We're not going to make it!"

Just then, a rain of fireballs and lighting bolts tore into the ranks of the dremora, scattering them and giving the Kvatch soldiers some breathing space.

"Finally, the damn Mage's Guild is getting involved. Where have they been this entire time?" Matius exclaimed to no one in particular.

"Keep firing! Divide them so we can get to the Chapel!" Ilend shouted to their new allies.

"Hurry, hurry! Everyone form up and push forward!" Matius echoed the sentiment.

Richard rushed forward with renewed energy, and their little band of soldiers and mages, along with some other stragglers, made a break for what they hoped was the safety of the Chapel of Akatsoh. He managed to land a few more blows and used his agility to hop-kick the shield of one of the dremora, knocking it out of the way while losing as little speed as possible. And they finally made it to the doors.

"Form a wall! Let the civilians get inside first!" Matius shouted.

The next few moments were a blur. Amidst the screams of the civilians, the shouts of the soldiers, the taunting and growls from the dremora, somehow they found themselves inside the apparent safety of the chapel.

"How do we know that we're safe in here?" he asked aloud.

"This is sacred ground; it would take a power greater than these foot soldiers to break through into here," Ilend assured him, though it sounded as if he was trying to assure himself.

Richard took a look around. The shock and horror on the faces of everyone inside was palpable. He could taste the fear on the air. He hoped Ilend was right and that they were safe in here. He was starting to feel the pain from his battle with the daedroth return. He coughed and grabbed at his side.

"Better get to the Altar of the Nine," Matius said to him. "You'll need to be healed if you're gonna get out of this."

"No argument here, just tell me what to do," he responded through labored breaths.

"Go place your hands on the Altar. Even if you don't know what to say, you seem the righteous type, Richard. The Nine will here your prayer and you'll feel refreshed," Ilend nodded to the front-center of the Chapel.

"Right...okay," he replied.

Finding his way through the crowded sanctuary, he could hear, amidst the sobbing, the "whys."

Why us? Why Kvatch? Why are the gods letting this happen? Why are the daedra here?

It was disheartening to hear, but he pressed on to the Altar. Looking around, not really knowing what to do, he reached out his hands and placed them on the cold stone. Suddenly, a ball of light seemed to appear from the center of the Altar and he was awash in its glow. His pain was gone, his fatigue subsided, and he felt better than he had in days. He felt his ribs, and they were all intact. He wasn't even sure Zed could summon magic such as this.

"Have you never prayed to the Divines before?" he heard a voice off to his right.

"I guess I haven't...where I'm from, we don't have...Divines..." he replied.

"Ah; are you from Akavir then? Perhaps the ruins of the Yokudan Archipelago?"

"What? Where are...wait, never mind. I'm not from this world...I come from a place called Westland. These lands are unknown to me...I barely understand what's happening right now."

"Yes...yes I can see your confusion. Without sounding too condescending, I hope, it doesn't take a scholar of the Daedra to see that this is an invasion happening right now."

Despite the circumstances, he allowed himself a chuckle.

"Yes, that much I gathered. I only arrived a few hours before this all began...so my confusion is only augmented by the sudden appearance of those...things outside."

"That I can understand," the man said stepping forward. "Forgive me, I've not yet given you my name. My name is Martin; I'm a priest of Akatosh."

"Richard Cypher...I'm the Seeker of Truth," he returned, wondering if that title even meant anything here.

"A Seeker of Truth? Now that is a noble cause indeed, certainly worthy of the Divines blessing. It is a wonder that you would receive the blessing of gods you've yet to even learn of, and yet there you stand, fully healed and refreshed."

"Yes, that was...that was unlike any magic I've ever seen."

"It is not magic, my friend," Martin said warmly. "The power of the Divines goes beyond what we mortals can fathom, though every mage is tied to Aetherius just as the divine pantheon is. Forgive me, I digress. This isn't the time for exposition. Just suffice to say that should you be and remain righteous, the gods will look favorably upon you."

"Thanks for explaining it to me...at least a little. I still don't know what all is going on."

"Nor do I, Richard. But if you are a Seeker of Truth, then perhaps it is your destiny to discover the source of our current distress. Kvatch, Cyrodiil, perhaps Mundus itself may come to rely on your very efforts discover this truth," Martin said, looking toward the crowd of civilians. "I need to tend to the wounded. I sense something in you, Richard. I suspect that this is not the last time our paths will cross."

"I should hope not, Martin. It was good to meet you...if we survive this, I hope to see you again...thank you for explaining what you could, given the circumstances."

"As would I. Good luck, Richard. It seems the good captain is in need of your services now."

They exchanged solemn nods, and Richard turned back to see Matius and Ilend meeting with what remained of the city guard and some other, less professionally dressed but rugged looking types and a handful of robed figures.

"Richard! Come here!" Ilend invited him to their circle.

"Ilend, Matius," he nodded to them.

"So what's the plan, Matius? Our numbers are dwindled and theirs seem to be without end," one of the rugged ones said. Were those tusks coming out of his mouth?

"You've seen the Gate? It was right in the city square. That's how they were able to emerge and overwhelm us so quickly. But that gate is gone...I don't know how or why. But there is another outside the city walls. It seems they wish to keep us locked in," one of the robed men said, he being as tall as Merendil.

"So what are we to do? Wait out here until the Imperial Legion arrives?"

"That could be days! And even if they show up, can we survive that long in here? I doubt the food stores here are enough to go beyond a week...and not with this many mouths to feed."

"You want to charge out there and get slaughtered like the rest of the Guild? Be my guest. I'm staying put."

"Coward!"

"Don't be so self righteous, kurr!"

"Enough!" Matius called them back to order. "We know that the Gate is responsible for these bastards showing up. So how do we handle it? We're soldiers, you're mages and mercenaries for hire. Follow me into the Gate, let's find a way to shut it down, and then Count Goldwine will reward you with lots of gold. How's that sound?"

"It'd better be a lot of gold," one said.

"Is that really what you're thinking of at a time like this?"

"How are we supposed to shut down this Gate, assuming we even make it inside?"

"It's a Gate to Oblivion," one of the robed men—a mage, Richard guessed—interjected. "If it can come into existence, it can be placed out of existence. We'll just have to figure out how once we're inside."

"That's asking an awful lot," the one with tusks-for-teeth put forward.

"Never known an Orc to back down from a challenge," a tall, fair haired looking fellow mentioned.

"You wish to challenge me, Nord?" the Orc puffed up his chest.

"Stop!" Richard found himself saying. "Are you really doing this? Now? A pissing contest? People are dying out there; perhaps there are still some we can save, and you're debating taking action as if we had a choice. How long do you think these walls will hold? How long will those doors keep the demons at bay? Perhaps they cannot get in, but what happens when one of them goes through that gate, tells his master to tell his master, on up the line until something stronger comes in? Something that sacred ground isn't strong enough to hold back. Are you still going to be debating whether to take action or not? Or can we make an attempt to save what's left of your city?" he finished, exacerbated.

The circle was silent a moment, but only a moment.

"And who are you? What stake do you have in this?" the Nord asked him.

"This is Richard," Ilend put in. "He's a guest of Count Goldwine, and be careful if you want to challenge him. He took down daedroth single-handedly, right after dispatching a dremora kynmarcher. He's quite the swordsman; and his courage is beyond your questioning."

"Whatever," the Nord said, though he didn't sound very convincing.

"Here's what's going to happen," Matius took back control of the group. "We're going to push through to city gate, then we're going to push into that Oblivion gate. We're going to find a way to shut it down. One of us is going to have to go for help; find some legion soldiers, or somebody. But the rest of us are going to push back to Castle Kvatch to ensure Count Goldwine is still alive."

"And then get paid," a short, pointy eared fellow put in.

"And you'll get paid, Maglir, you greedy kurr," Ilend interjected.

"Stowe it, Ilend. Save that fury for the daedra," Matius cut him off.

"So that's the plan?" the Orc asked.

"Yes. Say your prayers to Stendarr, Akatosh, any you need to. Once we exit that door, we're not coming back til we're done."

"Sounds ominous," Richard muttered, shaking his head.

"Stick close to Ilend," Matius told him. "You watch his back, he'll watch yours."

"What should we expect once we're inside the Oblivion gate?" the Nord asked.

"Anything," the tall mage with the pointy ears said. "Everything."

Richard glanced back toward the Altar, wishing he could take it with him. He saw Martin and caught his eye. His faced looked grim, but he managed the faintest of smiles, placed his hand to his heart, and then extended it; a gesture of blessing.

He hoped whatever blessing it was, that it worked wherever he was about to go.

 **A/N: Sorry for the long stretch in between Chapters 3 and 4. Had work stuff come up and didn't have the time to write. Hope you're enjoying it so far. Let me know what you think of the pacing of the opening. Trying to get Richard immersed in a world that isn't his while trying to make the Siege/Massacre of Kvatch feel as frenetic as a Daedric invasion should is something of a balance beam to walk, but so be it.**


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